


The Self-Inflicted Torment of Loving Miya Atsumu

by thesweetestnerd



Series: Haikyuu Jealousy Olympics [2]
Category: Haikyuu!!
Genre: Bottom Sakusa Kiyoomi, Canon Compliant, Fluff, Friends to Lovers, Frottage, Humor, Japan National Team shenanigans, Jealous Sakusa Kiyoomi, M/M, Making Out, Mutual Pining, Olympics, Pining, Smut
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-12-30
Updated: 2020-12-30
Packaged: 2021-03-11 02:55:42
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 18,847
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28437999
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/thesweetestnerd/pseuds/thesweetestnerd
Summary: Miya Atsumu is everything he hates in a person; Sakusa could write a novel’s worth of things that annoy him that Miya does, and yet none of it matters, because Miya inspires a familiar feeling in him. Sakusa is exhilarated by him, and he knows that just like volleyball, he’ll end up chasing him forever.Sakusa chases Miya all the way to the Olympics, but it takes the sting of jealousy for him to realize that he loves him.
Relationships: Miya Atsumu/Sakusa Kiyoomi
Series: Haikyuu Jealousy Olympics [2]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/2083275
Comments: 43
Kudos: 663





	The Self-Inflicted Torment of Loving Miya Atsumu

**Author's Note:**

> Sakuatsu owns my entire heart. There is no escape for me now. This is my new home.
> 
> This came about because I wrote a throwaway line about skts in an Iwaoi fic, but it can definitely be read alone. :) 
> 
> I hope ya'll enjoy <3

Sakusa has always been a masochist. It’s not necessarily by choice, but more so by design. The thing about Sakusa is that he discovered at a young age that he had a very intense aversion to anything and everything unclean. He _hated_ being sick, and he turned up his nose at the neighborhood kids with dirt on their faces from playing outside all day. He preferred neat spaces, fresh laundry and generally, quiet. 

Unfortunately for him, his promise of a simple, clean life was torn away from him the moment his cousin Komori decided to hand him a volleyball and ask if he would throw it to him for him to hit.

Sakusa fell head over heels in love. 

There was something about volleyball from the very beginning that drew in Sakusa like a moth to a flame. Every successful bump, every serve, every spike left him wanting more – it was exhilarating, so much so, in fact, that Sakusa didn’t care how dirty his knees got from sliding in the dirt of his backyard, or the sweat that soaked his t-shirt. He needed to learn everything about the sport, needed to practice until the sun went down, needed to be the best – and to do that, Sakusa had to throw himself head first into all of the filth and disgust of the world, and hope he came out on the other side okay. 

He always did, and he discovered that there were some things in life that were worth being uncomfortable for. Sakusa could always get clean later.

Sakusa chased that feeling his whole life – to away games, to training camps, through high school, college, and his adult life. Nothing made him feel like volleyball did – like it was worth leaving his bubble of peace. 

When he was sixteen years old, he was invited to the All-Japan Youth Training Camp, and his life changed for the second time. 

Miya Atsumu is more like a natural disaster than a human being, Sakusa decides, upon meeting him for the first time. He bursts into the gymnasium like it’s his own home, barefoot and carrying his shoes by the laces, chattering away to a bemused looking boy who Sakusa recognizes as Kageyama Tobio. 

Miya has a smarmy smile, and a thick Kansai accent and he just – doesn’t care that he’s letting his bare _feet_ touch the gym floor, where thousands of shoes have stomped over. He talks loudly, like he wants everyone to eavesdrop and he talks about _himself,_ like he wants everybody to know how great he is.

Sakusa’s eye twitches. He knows he has a bad habit of judging people before he gives them a chance, but he thinks Miya Atsumu deserves to be judged by what he shows the world. 

He tries to ignore him, sticks to Komori, mostly, plans to mind his business, but everything about Miya commands attention. He’s entirely irreverent – he’ll bow and nod at their coaches, then the moment their backs are turned he’ll stick his tongue out, like a child. He calls everyone by their given names, like they’ve been best friends forever, and for Sakusa, he decides his given name is not enough – he gives him a _nickname._ No one in his life had ever even had the nerve to call him Kiyoomi, outside of his family, and here Miya is calling him _Omi._

To make matters worse, Miya is an absolute monster on the court. Each set is more perfect than the last, and when the tosses go to Sakusa, he can feel the power behind them. He could get drunk off hitting Miya’s sets, though he’d never tell him that. The coaches tell them they make a great team, and Miya whoops, holding up his hand for a high-five. Sakusa thinks about where his hands have probably been, and he grimaces, but he smacks his hand anyway. 

He should’ve known then, but Sakusa has always been good at ignoring what he doesn’t want to see. On the court, Sakusa and Miya mesh together as if they were meant to be teammates, but off the court Sakusa does his best to continue ignoring him. His brain has other ideas, though, and he finds his eyes drawn to him almost every time he’s in proximity, and when Sakusa gives in to the urge to look, he sees Miya watching him too. 

Every word said to each other is either snark or a challenge, but throughout the week, Sakusa can’t keep his eyes off of Miya. 

Sakusa leaves the camp wondering if he should seek therapy for his special brand of self-sabotage. Miya Atsumu is everything he hates in a person; Sakusa could write a novel’s worth of things that annoy him that Miya does, and yet none of it matters, because Miya inspires a familiar feeling in him. Sakusa is exhilarated by him, and he knows that just like volleyball, he’ll end up chasing him forever. 

Sakusa sees him again at Nationals, watches him lose to Karasuno, sees him fall to his knees and cry openly. It makes him angry, to see someone practically bursting with talent so defeated. It’s wrong, and Sakusa has a strange feeling, almost like a premonition – he’ll hit Miya’s sets one day, and he won’t cry over losses anymore. 

  
  


-x-

Sakusa sees Miya again nearly six years later, when he tries out for the MSBY Black Jackals. 

Objectively, the MSBY Black Jackals are a terrible fit for Sakusa. Their roster is filled with two of the rowdiest, least structured players he has ever seen – Hinata and Bokuto – and the entire team in general is composed of loud, exhausting, overwhelming players. He would’ve been better with the Adlers, knows at least Ushijima has high standards of cleanliness, but no. He has the skills to join any team he wants, but it’s the doors of MSBY’s open tryouts that he walks through, remembering a promise he made to himself six years ago. 

Miya – Sakusa barely spoke to him, only spent time in his presence for a week, and he’d spent the last several years thinking about him. It isn’t like he didn’t have good reason – Sakusa had to follow his career if he wanted to make sure he was always one step ahead, so whenever Miya had a game, Sakusa was watching. 

They play each other once, in their third year, and every ball that they hit at the other feels like there are words bursting out of them – challenges, taunts and teases. Sakusa feels them against his skin, vibrates with them when the ball connects with his wrists and spins into the air. He and Miya speak with their eyes and with their actions, and it’s unlike anything Sakusa has ever experienced. It electrifies him, ignites something in him that inspires him to push himself to the absolute limit, just to defeat Miya. 

Inarzaki defeats them. It’s a close game and Sakusa knows he should be feeling something other than exhausted – ashamed, disappointed, at least, but he doesn’t. Instead, he feels alive – endorphins rushing within his brain, he doesn’t care that he’s dripping sweat. He doesn’t want to rush to the showers. Instead, he pulls himself up from where he has collapsed onto his knees, and he glances over to Inarzaki’s side of the court, and locks eyes with Miya Atsumu.

A genuine grin spreads across his face, and he cups his hands around his mouth to shout, “Good game, Omi-kun! Maybe one day we’ll play together, yeah?” 

Sakusa is too bemused to even respond, so he just blinks at him and Miya shrugs once before turning to his twin and enveloping him in a hug. 

He followed Miya’s career after high school too, wondering how such an abrasive, annoying man that he’s shared less than an hour’s worth of conversation with could have such a hold over him. 

Sakusa isn’t sure he would call them friends, then, but there’s something about being on a team that makes relationships bloom. Hate cannot come from volleyball, Sakusa has discovered, because trust and hate cannot be synchronous emotions. So while Miya is self-assured and looks down upon those he sees as beneath him, he also sets the ball perfectly for Sakusa every time, and when Sakusa slams it into the opposite court, Miya waits for him with a raised hand and a beaming grin. 

Friendships don’t come naturally to Sakusa, but volleyball does, and from the losses, the mishaps and the frustrations, the victories, the smashing of records and the climbing to the top, he shares the highs and lows with his teammates, and the friendships come to life without him meaning for them to at all. 

With every cry of ‘Omi-kun’, every successful pass, every exhausted fist pump after a long game, Sakusa and Miya end up closer. For the first time, Sakusa is discovering who Miya truly is, away from the show he put on when he was in high school. His personality is more or less the same – obnoxious, a devastating lack of common sense for somebody who’s a volleyball genius, but he’s just so clearly _older._ His dye job isn’t as vivid, he’s obviously spent the better part of the last six years in gyms, but outside of the physical changes, Sakusa can sense just a bit more maturity in his voice. 

Within MSBY, their makeshift rivalry transforms, and though neither of them change any facet of their personalities, and they still snap at each other on and off the court, they turn into an incredibly frightening duo. They make the social media sites before Sakusa even has his debut game, with footage taken from Hinata’s Instagram story, and the world starts to buzz about what Sakusa Kiyoomi and Miya Atsumu can do. 

At their first game, they’re unstoppable, and Sakusa is high on the adrenaline of it all, so much so that when Miya drapes an arm around him, he leans into it, instead of away. 

Miya starts to talk to Sakusa regularly after that, and Sakusa finds himself listening more than reciprocating, fascinated not with Miya’s words, but his mannerisms – the way words roll off his tongue, curling around his dialect; the way his eyebrows scrunch together when he’s trying to remember a play; the way he walks around preening like a peacock whenever anyone compliments him, all red in the face. 

When they have their first away game, they sit next to each other on the bus, and Miya offers Sakusa a headphone. Horrified by the prospect of Miya’s taste in music, Sakusa offers an alternative and presents his own headphone, earning him a smack to the arm. Miya touches him a lot more now that he knows it’s okay, and Sakusa doesn’t find that he minds.

They lose the game, and Miya almost self-destructs. Sakusa cringes, but he understands. He’s had plenty of breakdowns over losses, and he remembers the promise to his younger self. “Get your shit together, Miya,” he says. “We’ve gotta start practicing to win the next one. I bet I’ll get more service aces than you.”

Sakusa watches Miya brighten before his eyes with the challenge, and it’s blinding.

Miya becomes adept at dealing with Sakusa too. There was no trial period, no clumsy figuring out what worked best to calm him down when he works himself up – Sakusa isn’t on Bokuto’s level of emotional instability, but he hates avoidable mistakes, and whenever he makes one in game, he crumbles piece by piece. 

Miya tapes him back together with sets that seem like they’re made for Sakusa, combined with that shining grin, and reminders that of course Sakusa can do this, and he forgets why he was even upset in the first place. 

It’s the strangest thing, he and Miya Atsumu, but Sakusa’s life is full of oddities. 

The team starts calling him Miya’s keeper, and it’s horrifying, mostly because it’s true. One away game turns into many, and Sakusa always leaves a spot open for Miya on the bus. Sometimes they talk, sometimes they share their headphones, and sometimes they just exist in comfortable silence, which the team insists is unheard of from Miya.

He rolls his eyes at them for that and once everyone stops ragging on him, he tells Sakusa that he’s plenty quiet around his own home, it’s just a force of habit to be loud. He’s a twin, afterall, so he’s been in direct competition for attention his whole life. 

Miya has told him a lot of things, on those bus rides to away games, but this is the first time he’s ever opened up about anything like this, and Sakusa finds himself wanting to know more – who is Miya Atsumu? Why is Sakusa so drawn to him? If it’s just a fondness built on teamwork, then why doesn’t his heart clench every time Hinata’s serve flies over the net? Why doesn’t he have the insane desire to reach out and touch Bokuto, whenever he’s in proximity? 

Sakusa doesn’t want to answer his own questions, so he swallows them down and turns up his music. He doesn’t address the feeling again for another several years. It’s there, always just below the surface, but Sakusa has grown very skilled at ignoring the things that make him uncomfortable.

-x-

The Japan National Team had been scouting MSBY for years, so it comes as no surprise when Sakusa, Miya and Bokuto are given the call to tell them they’ve made the cut. They reunite with Hinata, who hasn’t stopped talking about how excited he is for them to meet Kageyama since they found out the news they’d be playing together and Sakusa once again gets to play on a team with Komori, so he’s riding a high too.

He’d be lying if he said his happiness was only from Komori. He loves his cousin, and there was a time in his life where he was all he had, but now Sakusa has familiar faces everywhere – he has a team, he has friends.

He has Miya, who Sakusa has somehow grown impossibly closer to. They gravitate towards each other, a natural pull, and they go from sharing bus seats to sharing an apartment, sharing a modeling contract for Calvin Klein, and just about everything else two people can share. First, it irked Sakusa to no end when Miya would swipe his food, but now he’s always ready to offer his fork, and he no longer kicks Miya onto the floor when he gets too close to him on the couch for movie nights. Miya is still a pain in the ass, but...it’s nice – whatever it is. Sakusa says friendship – they’re best friends, but the feeling from that bus trip years ago nags at him every so often.

It does now, while he watches Miya jump up and down, shouting and crying out to two of their new teammates, and Miya’s old – Ojiro Aran and Suna Rintaro. Sakusa remembers playing them – they’re both nasty on the court, and he looks forward to being on a team with them, but mostly, he finds happiness in Miya’s joy at seeing them, and the feeling is back in full force.

“What are you smiling at?” Komori asks him and Sakusa snaps out of his daze.

“Nothing,” he answers. “Just thinking about winning the Olympics.”

Komori gives him a curious look, but it’s gone before Sakusa can analyze it. He glances back to Miya again – Aran has him in a chokehold while Suna records, and he tells himself that it’s natural to be happy when your best friend is happy. That’s all it is. 

Their first practice leaves them all buzzing as they adjust to their new teammates, coaches, and meet the rest of their team. Sakusa focuses on trying to remember everyone’s names, mouthing them to himself so he can commit them to memory, when their new athletic trainer is introduced.

His name is Iwaizumi Hajime and he’s only a year or so older than Sakusa is, but for some reason gives off an intense aura of authority. He’s tall, broad-shouldered and stands straight at attention. He promises the team that he will take care of them to the best of his abilities, and make sure they’re in top shape for the Olympics. Sakusa respects him immediately. Miya – Miya stares at him with stars in his eyes.

“Omi,” he whispers, once Iwaizumi has sat down and they’re dismissed for the day. “He’s _gorgeous._ ”

Ah, the feeling – which he thought he successfully forced down earlier – hangs heavy in his stomach. It manifests itself in different ways, depending on the situation – when Miya is happy, Sakusa feels light. When he’s anxious, angry, frustrated – Sakusa’s brain follows suit. When Miya is fixated on somebody else, Sakusa feels like he’s swallowed lead.

Jealousy. He knows, realistically, that what he’s feeling is jealous, but he refuses to acknowledge it. If he acknowledged it every time it started to prod at him, he would be able to focus on nothing else. Miya is an abhorrent flirt. He has no filter, and it’s the bane of Sakusa’s existence – one, because of The Feeling, but also because it’s Miya at his most obnoxious. He’ll make eyes at the cashier in the grocery store, charming her with his thick, syrupy accent and his honey brown eyes, and then he’ll just leave, like he didn’t just fluster a poor girl within an inch of her life. At the gym, he’ll offer to spot, and his words of encouragement could come across as casual, if Sakusa didn’t know him better – if he didn’t see the way he glanced up in the mirror and found Sakusa watching, just to wink.

Miya has saved up more numbers than he’s ever known what to do with. It’s all a game to him – another competition. 

Sakusa will never participate, and it’s because he knows Miya so well that he knows when he’s on the receiving end of his flirting, it’s just to see if he can make Sakusa squirm. 

It doesn’t work. He knows better, but that doesn’t make it easier to deal with.

Sakusa is more or less used to how Miya operates – they have hard rules about bringing people home, and for that, he is grateful, but he still has to force down the painful lump in his throat when Miya’s gaze lingers a little too long on a stranger in the street, or when he gives out his genuine smiles like they aren’t something special.

Sakusa grits his teeth now. He can deal with Miya’s flirting. He’s been dealing with whatever it is that goes on in his head regarding Miya Atsumu for the better half of a decade, but something about Iwaizumi sets his nerves on edge. “Don’t be an idiot,” he hisses.

“Ya can’t tell me ya don’t agree, Omi-Omi. Look at the way his shirt fits.” He sighs, dreamy. “How distractin’” 

“You better stay on your game or I’ll kick your ass,” Sakusa threatens, and he means it. It would not be the first, nor the last time that he would follow through on a threat of physical violence with Miya. They fought almost every day, but once they were over it, they got right back to laughing. 

Sakusa is not laughing now, and Miya rolls his eyes at him. 

“Live a little,” he teases. “I’m only havin’ fun.” 

And Miya _does_ have fun. He follows Iwaizumi around during their downtime on the court, asking him endless questions about anatomy and bone structure and begging for help stretching, or a workout routine to ‘look as good as you do, sir’. Sakusa almost vomits, and he thinks he actually will when Miya reaches the point of claiming injuries that Sakusa knows for a _fact_ he doesn’t have. This goes on for a week before Sakusa is unable to keep the irritation out of his game.

He’s aiming for the space in-between Hinata and Suna, and ends up sending the ball right into poor, unaware Hinata’s face. He flies backwards and hits the ground hard, and Sakusa’s only salvation is that Hinata has a body made of rubber, so he bounces back immediately and waves off everybody’s concern.

“Yo,” Yaku says from next to Sakusa. “Something on your mind? You’ve been kind of a basket case all day. More than usual.”

Sakusa gives Yaku a withering look. They’ve been on the same team for all of seven days and he already has Sakusa clocked as a mess. It’s annoying, and nobody’s fault but his own, so he can’t even be offended. “I’m fine. It’s just an adjustment.”

Yaku snorts. “If you can adjust to playing on a team with Atsumu, Hinata and Kotarou, then you can handle anything. Don’t get so in your head about it.” 

Sakusa likes Yaku. He likes all of his new teammates actually – Aran is the textbook definition of ‘genuine’ and Suna gives Miya endless shit for simply existing, and Sakusa likes to join in. His life would be easier if he could see Miya like he sees the others – just a teammate, with their own separate life, interests and freedoms to flirt with whomever they pleased.

Sakusa let himself get too intertwined with Miya – they work together, they live together, they’re a duo on the court. They have dinner out twice a week and take turns cooking; they watch movies and spend Sundays in Sakusa’s bed playing on their Switch, only getting up to make snacks. 

He can’t just treat Miya like another one of his teammates because he’s so much more than that, and he wonders miserably how it ever got this point? How did he go from chasing Miya down as somebody to beat, to sulking because he’s _jealous?_

“Omi-Omi!” Miya calls to him now. “Did ya try to kill Shoyou on purpose?”

“Yes,” Sakusa answers, and Hinata throws him a sideways glance that has more than a little fear in it. He waves his hand to show he’s joking and then glares at Miya. 

He’s given a smile in return – always, from Miya. “And ya think I’m the distracted one.” He shakes his head. “I’d say yer more jittery than I am.” 

“I don’t have an outlet for pent up energy like you do,” he snaps, annoyed because this is all Miya’s fault anyway. If he would stop throwing himself over Iwaizumi, Sakusa would be able to focus again. 

Miya shrugs. “So get one?” He gives him a teasing smile, and Sakusa has no idea where to even begin with deciphering whatever riddle he just gave him, but it doesn’t matter because Miya is running to the opposite end of the court, to Iwaizumi. 

-x-

  
  


Sakusa doesn’t know whether he’s an idiot, or if his brain is just really, really good at self-preservation and is finally giving out after all this time.

Ten years. That’s how long Miya Atsumu has been in his life, and five of those years have been spent in extremely close proximity, and it’s _now_ that Sakusa can’t hold back his feelings for Miya? Even thinking about it clearly in his head feels like defeat. In the past, there had only been echoes – sparks of electricity when they’ve had too much to drink and Miya’s eyes seem to only focus on him; a spike of heat to his stomach when Miya inches closer to him on the couch, slow and careful under the glow of the television. There’s been slip-ups, but Sakusa has always been able to shove them back into the recesses of his mind before he had time to dwell on them too much. 

The whole thing is ridiculous because it’s Miya, but he knows as much as there is to hate about him, there is double to love.

God, he needs a lobotomy. 

Now that he’s acknowledged it, Sakusa can’t stop _noticing_ it. Miya has always been handsome – Sakusa has been in denial, but he hasn’t been _blind_. He’s always known that Miya is good looking, but fuck, now it’s one hundred times worse. Now, when Miya walks into the living room in only a towel, Sakusa almost combusts. He’s lucky Miya is only observant when volleyball is involved, and he doesn’t notice anything is off. 

It gets worse the closer they get to the Olympics, and Sakusa can’t even yell at him because Miya isn’t a centimeter off of his game. He still conjures up perfect sets, receives everything that comes in his direction, and gets service ace after service ace. He’s in top form, but in-between every practice set, or in the weight room, or before they pack up, he’s batting his eyelashes at Iwaizumi and calling him _Iwa-chan._ Sakusa isn’t a fool – he knows he’s not special with his nickname; everyone on the team has one, but hearing this one stings more because there’s an _intent_ behind it. 

At least he knows one thing – he’s not so far gone that he’s making something out of nothing. He’s not the only one who notices Miya has upped the ante on his flirting.

“Jesus, Tsumu is a menace,” Suna points out one day. Sakusa likes Suna even more than he likes Yaku. He’s easily his third favorite person on the team, and would be further up if Sakusa didn’t have a family member on the team, or wasn’t such a masochist with a dangerous fascination for dumb blondes. Suna is, put simply, Sakusa’s platonic soulmate. He’s short, blunt, and his favorite pastime is bullying Miya – they’re practically made for each other.

But only as friends, because apparently Sakusa’s heart doesn’t know what’s good for it. 

He agrees now. “You’d think he would’ve grown up a little in eight years.”

“He peaked in high school.”

Sakusa snorts, but it’s a lie – Miya was striking in high school, but it’s nothing compared to him now. 

He really can’t afford to be this distracted. Talking to Suna is a little therapeutic though, and he could really use some therapy. “Was he like this? In high-school?”

“Worse, if you can believe it,” Suna sighs. “He’s so charming, it covers up the fact that he’s a nightmare, and yes – he flirted with all the teachers. Probably a kink.” He shudders. “ _Nightmare._ He’ll chill out after he gets it out of his system.” 

Sakusa laughs, pointedly not latching onto the possibilities of Miya having any kind of kink, even if it was a teacher one and trying instead to focus on the important parts of the sentence. Suna is telling him that Miya does this for fun, like a game, and Iwaizumi is no different. Maybe Sakusa is overreacting. 

With that in his mind, he’s able to throw himself into practice and put Miya in the background. The flirting continues, but it lessens, or maybe Sakusa is just getting used to it. Regardless, before he can blink, the Olympics are upon them. They pack their things, have one final pre-Olympic practice, and set off to go. 

When they arrive at the Olympic village, Sakusa sets up his room. He’s sharing a villa with Miya, of course, because it’s expected at this point and he would probably throw a tantrum if Sakusa suddenly abandoned him (Aran and Suna already said they would absolutely not be rooming with him). Sakusa gets approximately three minutes of peace after unpacking before Miya is barging through his door without knocking. 

Miya stares at him in anguish, like Sakusa just deeply offended him even though he’s said absolutely nothing. “What – what are ya _wearing,_ Omi?” He bemoans. “We’re supposed to be meetin’ the others in twenty minutes!”

Sakusa glares at Miya so he knows that it’s rude to enter spaces without knocking, not that he’ll stop doing it. Sakusa learned a long time ago that the price of sharing space with Miya is a complete lack of privacy, and the fact that he was willing to do that from the start should’ve been more telling. “I’m not going. I’m tired.”

“Omiiiii,” Miya drags out the end of Sakusa’s nickname, pouting like an overgrown baby. _Cute_ , Sakusa’s brain supplies, and he wants to tear it out of his skull. “Ya hafta come. Ya gotta be my wingman.” 

Sakusa really doesn’t know what he did in a past life to deserve all of the torture he’s receiving in his current one, but he prays to whatever God exists to please give him an easier time in the next one. He keeps his face impassive, and says, “I’m not helping you flirt with our physical trainer. It’s unprofessional.”

Miya snorts. “Please, Omi-kun. Have ya _seen_ his ass? I can’t help myself, I’m only a man.” 

“You’re disgusting,” Sakusa sneers and it only serves to make Miya brighten. 

“Ah, if it was disgustin’, ya wouldn’t be my friend. I know ya don’t like gross things,” he says proudly and Sakusa feels his lip twitch but fights it back because he will _not_ give Miya the satisfaction of seeing him smile. Miya barrels on, “Besides, I’m not hurtin’ anybody by flirtin’. I keep my cool just fine on the court.” 

Sakusa sighs and lays his head on his pillow, a signal to Miya that he is decidedly not going out and he will be asleep in moments. He hears the alarm in Miya’s voice when he blurts, “C’mon, Omi, it’s not fun without ya!” 

“I’m fun?” He raises an eyebrow. “I’m the least fun person in these situations.”

Miya grins and it looks like success. “Don’t act like yer not a fun drunk. I’ve seen ya dance plenty of times.” 

Sakusa groans. He tries not to drink too much, but it turns out Komori, Suna and Miya together are a cyclone of peer pressure, and they plod Sakusa with drink after drink until he’s seeing stars. He tries to forget those nights, but Miya never lets him. 

“Fine, but I’m not being your damn wingman,” he grumbles. “Get out so I can change.”

“Won’t even change in front of me, and here I thought we were good friends.” He waves over his shoulder. “I’ll wait for ya in the livin’ room.” 

Sakusa puts more effort into his outfit than he should, and lies to himself that it’s so he can entertain a faceless stranger at the bar – someone who isn’t Miya Atsumu. He stares at himself in the mirror, noting how unimpressed his own expression seems at his pathetic excuse for a cover up. 

Well, it’s not as if Miya will notice. 

“Damn, Omi-kun! Ya look good. Ya trying to impress someone?”

Oh, now Miya chooses to be observant off the court. His eyes move up and down Sakusa’s body like he’s analyzing him, and he burns. He’s been on the receiving end of Miya’s flirtations plenty of times, but only in jest. It’s a game Miya likes to play with him, tries to get him to squirm, and lucky for Sakusa, he’s always had a strong will-power, so he never falls victim to Miya’s ploys, and his secret stays locked away where it is.

He may show no expression when Miya teases him with exaggerated compliments and winks or whistles, but his heart always soars. 

Sakusa decides to take back control of the conversation. Miya sees everything as a challenge between them, and flirting is no different. It’s a power-play, but Sakusa knows how to counter Miya’s every move. “I’m dressed up for Iwaizumi. You’re right, he is quite attractive.” 

Miya’s frown is instantaneous and Sakusa again has to keep himself from smiling. Miya gives him a sour look, then mutters, “Not fair, Om-kun. Yer prettier than me. Don’t take him away from me.”

“Too bad.” Sakusa tries for cool but he swears he can hear the quiver in his own voice, and his heart and ego are already irreparably damaged, because Miya sounds downright _sad_ , like the thought of losing Iwaizumi to someone else pained him. 

Sakusa knows that Miya isn’t interested in him – no matter how much he teases and tells him he’s handsome, it’s all just a part of his personality. Miya flirts with everyone, it’s how he communicates, but maybe this thing he has with Iwaizumi is more serious than he thought. 

He should not have agreed to go out tonight, but Miya is practically vibrating with excitement, bopping around the room like an overgrown puppy dog, and not even Sakusa is cruel enough to take that happiness away from him, so he goes.

The bar is within walking distance, and Miya chatters the entire way, carrying the conversation with ease. This is how it was when they both started out – even as early on as the training camp, Miya always had something to say to Sakusa. Back then, Sakusa did his best to ignore him, but Miya was not one to be deterred, and talked at him until he was either acknowledged or told to go away. Now, Sakusa is still the quiet one, but there’s a difference in the way he listens – now, it’s active, littered with hums of agreement or a nose crinkle that shows his distaste, and Miya knows them all by heart. 

Sakusa tries to focus on the stimuli around him, rather than on Miya’s facial expressions, lest he fall into some desperate puddle of longing. At least, if he has to endure this, he gets to endure this at the Olympics of all places. It’s slightly less painful to be subjected to someone you’ve loved for years pining over someone else when you’re an Olympic volleyball player, Sakusa guesses. 

The village is aglow with activity as new teams arrive and settle into their villas while those who had been here for a while found ways to get into trouble. Sakusa shouldn’t be surprised at what goes on in the Olympic Village, considering who his own teammates are, but he can’t help but be a little mystified by the level of depravity that the athletes get up to. He sees it now, as they walk – two who look like they may be gymnasts, pressed up against the wall of a villa, making out without a care in the world, while across the yard a basketball team laughs and records the scene on their cell-phones.

It’s all short-lived, of course. They have to get it out of their system now, because in a week when the games begin, the fun will be over. That’s the only reason Sakusa is going out tonight – because even he needs to loosen up before these things, and not because he wants to watch Miya like a hawk and make sure he doesn’t throw himself at Iwaizumi. Although, realistically, he’s not sure how he would react if he did. 

“There’s Argentina,” Miya points out, and Sakusa’s eyes follow his to a group of rowdy looking men who are singing while they carry luggage into their villas. 

“They say they’re a favorite,” Sakusa comments and Miya looks like Sakusa kicked him.

“We’re a favorite!” He protests.

“Sure, but so are they.”

Miya huffs. “It’s only because of Oikawa Tooru – damn traitor. I can’t wait to crush him.” 

Sakusa hums in agreement – their team has spent the last several months studying country after country, watching all available footage, stalking their socials, gathering intel in any way they can, and Oikawa Tooru sticks out to him. He’s a monster, and half of their team knows him from their childhood, including Iwaizumi, although he hasn’t ever heard him mention him directly. 

They make their way out of the village and into the city, and the bar that Yaku selected for the team looms in the distance. Sakusa sighs. This is going to suck. They have practice tomorrow, and he’s not on the level of those like Hinata, who has never had a hangover in his life, Bokuto, who needs at least eighteen shots to do any damage, or Komori, who has figured out the exact amount of alcohol that gets him comfortably tipsy and never overdoes it, even if he encourages Sakusa to overdo it every time. 

Miya is grinning, though, while elbowing him and his accent is even thicker due to the excitement, and Sakusa can’t be mad that he’s here. He follows Miya through the doors, and immediately spots Komori and Yaku, who he wants to make a beeline for, but Miya stops him.

“Ya can’t leave me when yer my wingman,” he insists. “Do ya see Iwaizumi?”

“No, and I told you, I’m not being your wingman,” Sakusa grunts and he shakes Miya off of his arm, even though he’s the one person who Sakusa allows to touch him off the court, other than Komori and his parents. 

“I’ll buy ya a drink for yer trouble,” Miya teases, and he ignores the fact that Sakusa tried to pull away and just grabs him by the arm again, dragging him through the crowd and to the bar. 

He does relax, after Miya has plied him with an expensive shot of whiskey, and Suna and Aran have joined them and taken some of the pressure off of him. For a while, they’re fine – they drink, they laugh, Suna gives them dirt on the other country’s athletes (according to Aran, Suna has eyes and ears everywhere and neither will explain it further). Sakusa feels comfortably tipsy, and he’s starting to think that this wasn’t such a bad idea, but then he _feels_ Miya begin to radiate anxious energy next to him and he’s right back on edge.

“I don’t see him,” he whines. “Maybe he didn’t come.”

“Who, Iwaizumi?” Aran asks.

“Tsumu, don’t make me get the spray bottle,” Suna threatens. “Get ahold of yourself.”

“I _can’t,_ ” he cries. “I got all pretty for Iwa-chan and he didn’t even show!”

“That’s not surprising, considering he has a job to do tomorrow,” Sakusa answers flatly. 

“Ugh, yer not sympathetic to my problem at all,” Miya accuses, downing some of his pretty, fruity drink before offering it to Sakusa. He would probably like it, but he knows it’ll give him a nasty hangover if he even takes one sip, so he shakes his head.

Honestly, the fact that he’s even considering drinking after Miya is something his brain refuses to process. He doesn’t drink after _anybody._

“What’s the problem, exactly? That you won’t be able to climb all over an employee of the National Team tonight?” Sakusa knows he’s being rude, but thankfully, that’s not out of the ordinary – blunt is the only way Sakusa knows how to communicate, and it serves as a great cover up in situations like this. Suna snorts and Aran gets ready to mediate a fight. Sakusa thinks he’s traumatized from all the times he had to pull Miya and his twin off of each other in high school – poor man. 

“The problem, Omi, is that I _need_ to get laid!” Miya takes a gulp of his drink for emphasis. “I’m freakin’ out! We’re at the Olympics! I’ve gotta destress somehow.” 

“You’re foul,” Suna sighs. “Come on, Aran. Let’s go find Hinata and see if we can get him drunk enough to dance on the bar again.”

“I don’t think that’s a good idea.”

“I think it’s the best I’ve had all night, actually.”

They say their goodbyes, and Sakusa keeps his face impassive as ever now that he’s alone with Miya, especially now that Miya has once again planted the idea in his head of what he’s like in bed – something he’s thought of many times, but never in the actual presence of Miya. He reminds himself now that he is reasonable and will not be defeated by the likes of Miya Atsumu and his sex appeal, but the whole thing really just gets under his skin – he doesn’t understand why it has to be Iwaizumi, and because he’s drunk, he blurts out, “Why don’t you just fuck a stranger then?”

“Whew, that’s weird comin’ from yer mouth.” Miya giggles, then, and Sakusa can’t contain the blush that hits his face. He busies himself with ordering another shot so Miya won’t see, and by the time he’s done, it’s faded, but Miya is still watching him expectantly.

“You’ve heard me say ‘fuck’ plenty of times,” Sakusa says, and it’s true – he may maintain an air of coolness off of the court, but on it, he’s not in control of what comes out of his mouth. Miya has been on the receiving end of many of his curses, as they all have, but at least he’s not as bad as Yaku, who cusses like a truck driver, or Hinata, who almost caused the entire team to faint when he first uttered, “shit”.

“Not in this context,” Miya insists. “Well, that’s besides the point – I can’t just fuck a _stranger_ at the _Olympics._ That’s a scandal waitin’ to happen! Do ya wanna see me in a tabloid?”

“It would be pretty funny,” Sakusa muses, “But bad for the team.”

“Exactly,” Miya huffs. “If I’m gonna fuck anybody, it’s gotta be someone who won’t go squealin’ to the press about how they were in an Olympian’s bed.” 

“And so you’ve landed on Iwaizumi,” Sakusa says, not a question but a statement. Miya defends himself anyway.

“Well, yeah! It’s not like I can fuck anybody on the team – it could go bad and mess up our mojo. None of them are really my type anyway.” He pauses, eyes flickering to Sakusa for just a millisecond before flashing away. “Nah, I can’t do that.” 

Miya, as Sakusa has learned, can be very hurtful. He chooses his words carefully on the court, the taunts designed to bait the other team into anger, because anger throws off one’s game. Sakusa has seen it also when Miya interacts with his twin – they fight like no pair Sakusa has ever seen, and the words they throw out are like knives. The worst, he decides though, is when Miya hurts without meaning to – when he says something so clueless, so genuine, as a throwaway comment, and not like something Sakusa will fixate on until the end of time. 

He refuses to be some sort of love-struck puppy dog. If there’s one thing Sakusa could do before this...whatever this is started, it was hold his own against Miya. He won’t lose that now. “Are you sure it’s not because no one on the team would be interested in you?”

There it is. Miya downright frowns at him. “Yer so mean, Omi. Are ya telling me I’m ugly?”

Sakusa doesn’t answer that because he is not a liar, and Miya whines.

“Terrible. Yer cruel.”

Sakusa shrugs, and Miya lets out a long-suffering sigh. “I was expectin’ to get _some_ kinda action tonight, even if it was just Iwa-chan laughin’. Laughter is the gateway to sex, Omi.”

“Good to know.” 

“Ah, I’ll just have to try again next time we go out,” Miya continues. “I’m glad yer here with me, though – let’s call drunk Omi out, so we can have some fun.”

And Sakusa, who is already drunk enough to be agreeable, doesn’t protest. He really does want to forget every word Miya has said tonight, so he takes the new shot Miya gives him and downs it at once, feeling both fuzzy around the edges and somehow unbearably sharp. He’s soft because his inhibitions are starting to fade away, but while his brain takes a vacation, the rest of his body stands at attention, analyzing and reacting to every little move Miya makes.

He makes so many of them. If Sakusa were a less observant man, he would miss them, but his eyes have been trained to notice Miya. He turns himself so Sakusa has all of his attention, and he reaches out, touches his sleeve, smacks his thigh, laughs with his whole body, leaning over into Sakusa’s space and he’s _suffocating_ , and the music is loud and Miya teases him without having to make any effort at all. Sakusa can’t take this. He’s only human.

Everybody is right – Miya is a _menace._ He could have latched onto anybody else, but he chose Sakusa and now he has to suffer. 

“Miya,” he says, abrupt. “I should go home.”

Miya looks like Sakusa has just told him the Olympics are cancelled. “Why would ya leave, Omi? Aren’t we havin’ a good time?”

 _Too good of a time_ , Sakusa thinks – he’s having such a good time with Miya that he forgets so easily the fact that Miya is who he is, and that he’s just flirting with Sakusa because Sakusa is here. He’s substitute for Iwaizumi. 

For a moment, that doesn’t sound so bad. He’s just a substitute – not the real thing, but Sakusa thinks that maybe that could be enough. He may not garner the attention that Iwaizumi does from Miya, but he could be his stand-in, if it meant he could return his touch, just this once. 

He could get it out of his system, just like Suna said. 

“I’m going to step outside, at least,” he manages, and he hopes Miya catches the unspoken part of his sentence – the invitation. _Come with me._

Miya nods. “Yeah, it is loud in here. I’ll come with ya.” 

There’s no turning back now, Sakusa decides. He has to do this so that he’s clear-headed for the games. 

They take a side door out, tactfully avoiding the majority of their team – not that Sakusa thinks they’d notice them anyways. He spies Bokuto, talking to that con man that lingers around their games sometimes – Kuroo, or something. He’s not surprised he’s here. Suna and Aran did find their way to Yaku and Komori, who always become the best of friends when they’re drunk, and somewhere, buried in the crowd, he sees a shock of orange hair that can be nobody but Hinata. They’re all in their own little worlds, and that’s for the best – Sakusa does not need to endure any words from Suna or Yaku about why he’s sneaking out with Miya.

They end up in an alleyway, a little pocket of quiet shielded with brick walls that muffle the shouts and shrieks of all the athletes who would be regretting how much they drank in the morning. Sakusa is _sure_ he’s going to be one of them, especially with the way his hands shake as he tries to fight his brain on what he’s decided he’s going to say. 

Miya leans against the wall and closes his eyes, like he’s dreaming. When he breathes out, Sakusa watches his chest rise, watches his shoulder shrug, and he clears his throat. It’s now or never. He pulls down his mask. “I get why you’re trying to blow off steam,” he begins, feeling every cell in his body flood with anxiety. Still, he barrels on, “I’m stressed too, and I’ve been...looking for an outlet.”

Miya’s eyes snap open comically fast. He regards Sakusa as if he’s an alien speaking a completely foreign language. “Yer – looking for an outlet?”

“Yes.”

They’re both quiet for a moment, and then Miya coughs. “Are ya suggestin’ what I think ya are?” 

“What do you think I’m suggesting?” Sakusa asks evenly. He’s been blessed with the gift of composure, even when his heart is beating at one hundred miles an hour. Miya, on the other hand, for once does not look cool and collected. He squirms, just the barest hint of panic in his eyes.

“I don’t want to say, because if I’m wrong you’ll probably hit me,” he breathes. “I don’t think I’m wrong but – promise ya won’t?”

“I’m not going to hit you, Miya,” Sakusa grumbles. He only hits Miya when he deserves it, and it’s never very hard, so he has no reason to act dramatic about it. Miya eyes him, as if trying to find a crack in his expression, before he finally smiles – it’s shaky, not as assured as he usually is.

“Ya wanna – we could – use each other to relieve stress.” 

Well, it’s not the way Sakusa would put it, but it’s the safest way of phrasing it. If he can be allowed just a few moments with Miya like this, where he can run his hands down his body freely, explore the dips and curves he’s spent so many practices admiring, or get his lips to his skin, to see if he tastes as good as he smells – if he can have that, then maybe it’ll be enough. He just needs a taste, and then he can be satisfied with the fact that he knows what it’s like, and then he can move on.

All logic in his brain tells him he’s a fool, but Sakusa isn’t thinking much right now, so he nods. “Sure.” 

Miya breathes out quietly, disbelief written all over his face. “Ya – ya wanna – with me?”

“Don’t make me say it again, Miya,” he snaps, his nerve threatening to disappear completely. Miya huffs at that, muttering that ‘he didn’t even say it the first time’, but then he silences all complaints and peels himself from the wall. He sizes Sakusa up, not unlike how he does to his opponents on the court, and then takes a step closer.

“I jus’ didn’t think ya were the type, Omi.” His voice has dropped to a whisper, and it’s just husky enough to make goosebumps erupt all up and down Sakusa’s arms. How desperate must he be, that just words elicit a physical reaction like this. “Are ya sure?”

“I’m going to change my mind if you don’t get on with it,” Sakusa threatens, even though it would take a miracle to change his mind now. 

“No, no,” Miya cries, alarmed, and Sakusa smiles in surprise, before swiftly wiping it away. It’s too late though – Miya has noticed, and the tension dissipates instantly. Miya grins, and then he’s in Sakusa’s face. 

In any normal situation, Sakusa would have shoved Miya away long before he could get this close, but now he just wants to drag him closer. 

“Ya wanna kiss me, Omi?” The question is asked practically against his lips, all Miya-brand confidence turned back up to one hundred with that one smile, and heat pools heavily in Sakusa’s stomach. 

He doesn’t trust himself to answer, so he just hums out his assent, and he figures that’s enough for Miya because suddenly a hand is snaking around his waist and Miya’s lips are on him. 

Ah, Sakusa thinks he’s probably dead.

Miya’s lips are plush and warm and move against his with an urgency that feels like desperation, like Sakusa could change his mind at any moment and call him off. His arm wraps tight around him, pulling Sakusa close so that he’s chest-to-chest with him, keeping him prisoner.

Sakusa wants to tell him it’s unnecessary – he’s not going anywhere, only wants to get closer. He wants to invade Miya’s space, breathe his air, swallow up every kiss, and it’s terrifying. It’s as exhilarating as the first day he met him. 

The kiss deepens quickly, and Sakusa knows he has to keep pace, because falling behind somebody like Miya Atsumu is not an option. He digs his nails into Miya’s back and they stumble backwards until he hits the wall once more. Miya lets out a little noise, a mix between a whine and a moan, and Sakusa’s grip on reality loosens just a little bit more.

He’s dizzy. He’s dizzy and Miya is everywhere – his hands trace patterns on his lower back, grip fabric, wander, wander, wander, up and down, from his hips to his sides to his biceps and Sakusa not only allows it, but he welcomes it, wishes for it. Their lips slide over each other, slick and wet and sloppy and taking every breath straight from Sakusa’s lungs. He’s kissing Miya, and it’s better than he ever imagined.

He feels no satisfaction – no relief, only desperation, a burn that begs for more and more and more. Sakusa wants to devour Miya, right here against this dirty brick wall. He wants to hear him cry out and beg for him – he wants to hear Miya say his name.

But Miya doesn’t want him – it’s not real. 

The realization hits Sakusa with all of the crushing accuracy of a fatal blow, and he feels himself deflate. Miya doesn’t want this; he wants Iwaizumi. Sakusa is a decoy, and while he could act as that, could chase this addictive feeling, he knows it will only lead to more pain in the long run. Miya said it himself – hooking up your teammates is a recipe for disaster. 

This did nothing to get Miya out of his system. If anything, he increased his desire. He’s an idiot. 

“Stop,” Sakusa speaks against Miya’s lips. “That’s enough.” He shoves him away, sharp, unceremonious, and refuses to meet his eye.

He doesn’t have to see his face to hear the hurt. “Did I – did I do somethin’ wrong? Was I goin’ too fast?” The questions come out of winded words; he still hasn’t recovered his breath. Sakusa glances at him, and immediately regrets it. Miya’s chest is heaving and his pupils are blown wide, a combination of lingering lust and now, fear. “I can slow down, Omi, I promise, I’ll – ”

Stupid, bleeding heart Miya, who acts like an arrogant asshole to the general public, but is nothing but soft and kind to his friends. Of course, he’s worried about Sakusa; of course he doesn’t want to have upset him, because they’re friends and teammates, and that’s it. That’s all they’ll ever be.

“We shouldn’t keep going,” Sakusa says, and the statement feels like holding a knife to his own throat. He has to drag it out. “We shouldn’t have done this at all, and I need to go home.”

He moves further back from Miya, and makes a turn for the door. It’s amazing nobody walked out on them, and Sakusa curses himself a million times over for being stupid enough to think this was a good idea in the first place – it was a dangerous, hair-brained idea that could’ve gotten them in huge trouble.

And probably ruined Sakusa for the rest of his life, because there’s no way he’ll ever be able to kiss anyone again without comparing them to Miya. 

“Omi, wait!” Miya chokes out. “Let me go with ya – I’ve gotta grab somethin’ from inside and we should say bye, but I’ll come, just – ”

“No, it’s fine. Stay here. You never leave this early. I’ll be fine.” He tries to keep his cool, to go for natural, like nothing has changed between them, even though he knows he’s never going to be able to look at Miya again without feeling hot shame wash over him like a steaming shower. 

“Ya said fine twice, Omi,” Miya points out, and he sounds kind of sad.

“I’m just drunk. I’m drunk and I need to go _home_ , Miya.” The panicked edge in his tone must be what does it for Miya. He’s bordering on hysterical, and he hates it – he hates losing control, hates having a presence like Miya in his life that affects him this way. Miya just manages a small nod.

“Are ya sure ya don’t want me to walk ya home? It’s fine if ya regret it, Omi, just – let me come with ya.”

“No,” Sakusa says. “Stay here. Have fun.” 

Miya lets him go, and Sakusa gets tunnel vision for his escape. He slips inside, through the drunk athletes and sweaty strangers and this bar is _everything he hates_ , but of course he’ll go anywhere Miya asks him, because he’s pathetic.

He fights his way through to the front door, and if that’s Komori calling for him, he ignores it. He makes it out of the bar and tears the mask from his face, gulping in as much air as he can take. He adjusts it on his face, and then starts on his way home, barely looking up from his feet until he gets there.

Sakusa practically flings himself into the shower when he arrives, letting scalding hot water cascade over him. It’s been a long time since he’s gotten like this – like he can’t get clean, like he can’t breathe in pure air. He’s dirty, tarnished everywhere, ruined by Miya Atsumu. 

When he’s finally calmed down enough to think rationally, he steps out, towels off, and collapses straight into bed. 

Sakusa is the king of self-inflicted torture. He’s going to dream about Miya’s lips on his tonight, and probably for the rest of his life. In Miya’s room, across the hall, he’ll fall asleep dreaming about Iwaizumi. 

-x-

When Sakusa wakes up, Miya has already gone. He’s not surprised – he’s always been the first to practice and is often the last to leave, rivaled only by Hinata, and even he can’t keep up with Miya’s fire all of the time. He sighs to himself and pinches the bridge of his nose before getting out of bed and beginning his morning routine. 

Whatever Sakusa did in his past life, he hopes this is enough atonement. He’s not sure why his _entire being_ couldn’t be considered punishment enough, but his crimes must have been severe if they warranted having Miya cast into his current life. 

He knew he should’ve tried out for the Adlers. He would’ve probably become best friends with Ushijima and that would be quiet and pleasant, and definitely not inspired these horrendous _feelings._

The walk to practice is uneventful, and the silence reminds Sakusa of where Miya’s voice normally would be. He’s an equal opportunity pain-in-the-ass, somehow simultaneously a night owl and a morning person, so there is rarely a time where he isn’t jabbering away. It has become such a constant in Sakusa’s life that the absence is uncomfortable – a deviation from the norm. 

Sakusa doesn’t know why he did it. He prides himself on being a logical person – think first, then carefully execute. There’s heart in his game, obviously – he puts his everything into volleyball, but his plays come from a place of planned perfection, and he translates that same line of thinking to his personal life; except now, apparently. 

He thought it would satisfy the itch – that’s why he did it, and Sakusa can at least give his brain the benefit of the doubt, because it seems logical in practice. It’s Sakusa’s own fault that it not only did not snuff out the feeling, as if the only thing he needed was his curiosity sated, but instead ignited it further. Now, Sakusa knew – he knew that Miya kissed soft and slow, but his hands wandered like they couldn’t keep still, and he pushed, pushed, pushed, like he couldn’t get close enough. Sakusa has a high-definition picture playing in his memories, behind closed eyes and open. 

His plan not only backfired on him, but it most definitely ruined him, and right before the Olympics too. Sakusa is an idiot. 

He gets to the gym, later than usual, because he didn’t want to risk being alone with Miya. It’s going to be dreadful, awkward, miserable, and Miya will probably ignore him, or give him strange looks, or he’s already told everyone – 

“Oi, Omi!”

Sakusa blinks and stares in the direction of Miya, who’s waving to him, positively cheerful. 

“Sorry I didn’t wait for ya! I couldn’t sleep, and so I just ran here,” Miya explains, palming a volleyball. “C’mere, I wanna practice somethin’.”

Sakusa takes one, two seconds to process, and he jogs over, cautious. Miya doesn’t bring up the kiss – in fact, he acts completely normal, and Sakusa begins to wonder if he made it up. If not for the fact that he has a terrible imagination, he would think he did. 

Miya acts like everything is normal, down to the endless teasing and cocky comments about his tosses, and Sakusa should be happy about this – he should, but Miya’s normal also means that he’s back to seeing how far he can push his flirting with Iwaizumi before he gets berated for it. Today, he’s complaining about his shoulder – a phantom pain, Sakusa knows, because he had his hands all over Miya last night, and he didn’t so much as wince. He grits his teeth together and tries to ignore the batted eyelashes and the drawl of, ‘Iwa-chaan’ that he’s pretty sure is going to play on repeat in his own personal hell for the rest of eternity. 

The worst part of it all is that Miya throws him his usual cocky grins, like their – whatever that was – last night meant nothing to him at all, so he expected it to be the same for Sakusa. 

It irritates the hell out of him, and he again thinks how much easier life would be if he could hate Miya. He tries to will it through his actions, yelling at him to, “Quit bullshitting. We have to get this play right.”

It fails, because instead of Miya returning Sakusa’s threat with something stupid and sassy that he could at least _try_ to get annoyed about, Iwaizumi calls Sakusa out. He _knows_ Sakusa’s been putting his wrists through hell and not resting nearly enough and he’s forced to trudge over to where he sits, unbearably pleased with himself, on the bench next to Miya.

He grins at Sakusa – full-on, shit-eating grin, and Sakusa still doesn’t hate him.

“You’re so shameless,” he mutters, snatching an ice pack up. Miya’s eyes twinkle at him. His good looks are wasted on such a terrible personality, and Sakusa should go see a psychiatrist to see why he likes said personality so much.

“Watch and learn, Omi-kun.” 

Sakusa doesn’t, or at least tries not to. He directs his attention instead on Hinata’s and Kageyama’s freak quick, then Aran’s spike, then Yaku’s kamikaze dive onto the court that looks like it’s going to severely injure him one day, but nothing can hold his attention for long, not when Miya is right next to him, paying him no mind while he makes eyes at Iwaizumi.

Sakusa counts down the seconds until he’s allowed to get back on the court. Iwaizumi always makes them ice for at least five minutes, then do quick warm up stretches, _then_ they can resume practice. He ticks them down in his head, and he’s just about to get up and flee when an ungodly screech comes from the back of the court, drawing his attention there. 

It’s Hinata, and strange noises come from him often, so Sakusa would think it’s nothing if not for the fact that Hinata is jumping all over a stranger – a tall, tanned stranger with a carefully coiffed mess of brown hair. Sakusa recognizes him immediately – Oikawa Tooru. 

On instinct, Sakusa turns to Miya, but Miya is watching Iwaizumi, and there’s a sour look on his face.

It’s not hard to see why – while Miya is glowering, Iwaizumi’s lips have opened just slightly in wonder, and he’s staring at Oikawa as if he’s never seen something so beautiful in his life. 

Sakusa knows the look well. He’s sure he’s worn the same stupid, starstruck expression. 

The entire gym explodes into theatrics. Hinata is hopping around like somebody stuck a rocket up his ass, Kageyama looks to be a strange combination of fond and terrified, Ushijima is _pouting_ and Bokuto is shouting, “I remember you!” 

Sakusa lets his gaze linger again on Iwaizumi, and sees now the genuine smile on his face. Iwaizumi smiles a lot – he obviously likes his job, and as ridiculous as their team is, Sakusa can admit they’re mostly funny, but he’s never seen a smile like this from Iwaizumi before. It’s radiant. 

Oikawa returns it in full, and absolutely leaps into his arms.

Sakusa bites his tongue, because he really wants to say something snarky to Miya – something like, “Looks like you’ll have to find another team’s athletic trainer to try and fuck” but he doesn’t because he one, doesn’t want Miya to actually do it, and two, doesn’t want to come across as spiteful and jealous (even if he is).

Miya, however, doesn’t seem discouraged. If anything, there’s a fire in his eyes that wasn’t there before – a familiar fire, often sparked from the promise of competition. He looks towards their coaches and calls out innocently, “Isn’t this a closed practice, coach?”

Iwaizumi mumbles out several apologies for Oikawa’s behavior, but it’s clear he’s not that sorry. He’s glowing, asking Oikawa endless questions, like he’s completely forgotten he’s at work as an athletic trainer for an Olympic team. 

It’s cute, Sakusa thinks. They make a nice couple, and maybe Miya will realize that too and back off.

Then again, this is Miya, so Sakusa shouldn’t have entertained that thought at all.

“Ya sure ya should be fraternizing with the enemy, Iwa-chan?” He teases, and he’s using the voice he reserves for flirting – husky, tantalizing. Being on the receiving end of that voice feels suffocating, dizzying; it shatters Sakusa’s inhibitions – being a spectator to it just makes Sakusa feel like he needs a shower.

Oikawa may strangle Miya right there. Sakusa would probably encourage it, at this point.

Instead of entertaining that particular fantasy, Sakusa jumps up, discarding his ice and thanking Iwaizumi, before jogging back out onto the court and away from Miya and hoping to leave the trainwreck of his emotions behind with him. Before he can get far enough, though, he hears Miya tell Oikawa in a sing-songy voice that he’s never heard of him. 

Sakusa scowls at Miya and mouths, _liar._

He gets nothing but a closed-lip smile in return. 

Eventually, Iwaizumi sends Miya away, and he slinks over to the court like a kid walking to time out. Sakusa sneers at him. “You’re ridiculous.”

“Ah, c’mon, Omi. Throw me a bone. I was makin’ good progress until pretty boy Tooru had to come in and steal my thunder.” He glares in Oikawa’s direction, but the other man pays him no mind – he’s too busy belly-laughing at something Iwaizumi says, radiating delight.

“You’re evil,” Sakusa says, and means it. “Let them be happy.”

“He’s the _enemy_ , Omi-kun,” Miya insists. “We were jus’ talkin’ about beatin’ him into the ground.”

“On the court. I don’t care what he does in his personal time.”

“What if he’s tryin’ to get secrets outta Iwa-chan?” 

“Does it look like that’s what he’s doing?”

“Yes,” Miya huffs, stubborn. “I’m jus’ lookin’ out for the good of the team, and gettin’ Tooru away from our Iwa-chan is the best way to do it.”

Sakusa sighs. He knows he has no say in this. He can’t stop Miya once he has an idea. Well, he probably can, but it would be pathetic and humiliating and he refuses to stoop so low. He may have a crush on the human embodiment of Satan, but he can at least maintain his dignity about it, so instead of saying anything, he just puts all of his frustration into his spikes, and by the end of practice, he’s feeling a little better about this whole hopeless situation.

That is, until Miya ups his game to the next level, and asks Iwaizumi for one-on-one physical therapy.

Sakusa hangs back from the crowd of his teammates that is surrounding Oikawa. Suna joins him. “You look like you want to kill somebody.”

“That’s just my face.”

“I feel that,” Suna says, but then he smirks. “I’ve been your teammate for long enough now to know you’re lying, though.” 

“What would I be lying about.” Sakusa answers, as flat as possible, because that’s how one has to communicate with Suna, though his jaw is clenched and he is very clearly the opposite of fine. He may be able to convince the rest of the team that this is his resting state, but Suna is not easy to fool. Sakusa could have told him about his situation with Miya, but thinking about saying the words out loud makes him nauseous – how would he even phrase it? He’s not going to say he has a _crush,_ and he certainly can’t casually mention that he and Miya made out with no background. Suna would make fun of him forever, and probably post about it on Twitter. 

“I want to punch Atsumu in the face most of the time too,” Suna says conversationally, “But for different reasons than you. You should know – he’s an oblivious idiot. You have to scream things in his face to make him understand.” 

“What would I need to make him understand.” Sakusa is going to get a migraine from clenching his jaw. Suna simply smiles. Suna has a terrifying smile.

“You know more than I do.” Then he claps Sakusa on the shoulder and walks away, leaving Sakusa to stew on his words and wonder how he’s survived this far in life with the people he surrounds himself with. 

“Omi, wait up for me! I’ll jus’ be a little bit!” Miya calls. Iwaizumi’s hands are on his back, and Oikawa is nowhere to be found. 

“No,” Sakusa says, and he leaves the gym.

-x-

They don’t see Oikawa again for the rest of the week, but Miya doesn’t let up. He’s as relentless in his flirting as he is on the court, and the only salvation Sakusa has is that Iwaizumi seems entirely immune to it. He’s either the most oblivious man in the world, or he just thinks too highly of Miya to realize that he’s a deviant hellbent on destroying Iwaizumi’s potential relationship. 

Three days before their match against Argentina, Miya barges into Sakusa’s room after practice, yet again.

“I have a strategy,” he declares, and Sakusa raises an eyebrow, the bare minimal response that Miya is going to get out of him. The kiss changed absolutely nothing between them, and for the life of him, Sakusa cannot figure out if he’s happy about it or not. 

He should be relieved, probably – he kissed Miya and their friendship survived it, but instead he just feels agitated, itchy. Kissing Miya felt like the beginning of an addiction, and he’s already craving more.

Yet, here Miya is again, plotting over Iwaizumi. 

“After we win against Argentina, I’m gonna get Iwa-chan a gift – maybe somethin’ romantic, like flowers, as a thank ya from the team but especially me. He’s gonna be so flustered and off such an adrenaline high that he’ll definitely take me home.”

Miya looks quite proud of himself. Sakusa throws a pillow at his face for lack of a better way to communicate. Miya catches it without so much as a flinch – asshole. 

“That plan includes us winning, which I don’t see happening if you don’t stop wasting your time and energy on things that don’t matter,” Sakusa finally says. 

“It matters – of course it matters. Omi, I can’t let Tooru win! He’s a cocky bastard!”

“Can’t let him win the Olympics or win the heart of a man he’s clearly in love with?”

Miya sputters. “Both! But he’s not – they’re not _in love,_ Omi-kun. What d’ya know about love anyways?” He mutters, and Sakusa fixes him with a dry stare.

“Absolutely nothing at all,” he deadpans, and Miya nods in agreement. 

“I’m just so damn antsy – and I dunno, our first game isn’t for a week. Don’t ya feel like explodin’?”

“I generally can channel my energy into volleyball. I don’t have an excess, like you.” 

“Agh,” he grumbles and he takes a sip of something that’s probably alcoholic. “I don’t know how ya can stay so put together. It’s the Olympics. All there is to do is win medals, get drunk and fuck, but you only drink if I make ya and ya didn’t even like kissin’, so obviously yer not gonna – ”

“I didn’t dislike it,” Sakusa interrupts him, and he’s not quite sure why he did – other than the fact that he’s exhausted, and that Miya is wrong. It’s in Sakusa’s bible to never let Miya get away with being wrong.

Sakusa glances over at him now, and he’s staring so hard it’s unnerving. Miya’s mouth hangs open. “Why’d ya make me stop then?” 

“You’re clearly otherwise occupied with Iwaizumi,” Sakusa says, keeping his voice smooth and devoid of all bitterness. “And we could’ve gotten carried away.” 

Neither are lies, they just omit the whole truth, and honestly – they could have gotten carried away in that dirty back alley. Sakusa could’ve let Miya push him against the wall, could’ve let him put his mouth on every expanse of exposed skin. 

He looks away, but the burning of Miya’s gaze lingers.

“If – if all ya wanna do is kiss, I can kiss ya,” Miya stammers, and when Sakusa looks up again, he’s red in the face and avoiding eye contact. “Ya – ya weren’t bad to kiss, and I won’t make it weird or anythin’ – just, stress release.”

Sakusa would suffice, is essentially what Miya is saying. He isn’t Miya’s wet dream, clearly, but he’ll do. How pathetic is it of Sakusa that he melts at that? He’s just been told he’s adequate, and he wants to swoon. He’s an embarrassment but he’s also way too far gone to care. 

“Kiss me then, I won’t tell you to stop this time.

Miya does, and Sakusa doesn’t. He lets Miya climb into his bed, with his clean sheets, and drop his body over Sakusa’s. He lets him crash their lips together, barely any time for adjustment before Miya’s tongue is licking at his lips to get Sakusa to open up, and he does.

This time, when Miya moans softly, Sakusa pulls him closer, hands moving in patterns down the soft cotton covering his back. Their bodies lie flush together, and Miya moves his body with little jerks, which would be almost imperceptible had the fabric of his sweatpants not shifted just slightly so that Miya’s cock brushed over Sakusa’s. 

“Fuck, Omi,” Miya gasps. “Yer good. So good. Thought I dreamt ya the other night.”

“Huh?” Sakusa asks, too dazed to read the meaning behind the words.

“Shh,” Miya says instead of an explanation, and then he dips his head into Sakusa’s neck and sucks at the skin, causing Sakusa to wriggle against Miya’s body. “Ya like that? Sensitive?” 

“Yeah,” Sakusa breathes, so Miya sucks harder. “Don’t mark me, though,” he manages with what little awareness he has left. He twists his fingers into Miya’s hair and yanks him off of his neck, fixing him with a steely glare. 

Miya stares at him like he wants to eat him, and Sakusa feels something stirring deep in his own stomach, then Miya is on him again, harder than before.

Miya kisses just like he’s on the court – skillfully aggressive, with tantalizing, clever plays. He takes Sakusa’s lower lip in-between his and nibbles it; he slides his hand down Sakusa’s inner thigh, close enough to bring heat but not relief; he presses chaste kisses into his neck, and whispers dirty things into his ears. Miya’s actions serve to disarm him, and he is nothing but always on top of his game. Sakusa would allow nothing less. 

Sakusa keeps pace, letting his hands roam over Miya’s broad shoulders, down his back before he rests them on his waist – too tiny compared to the rest of him. Sakusa truly never stood a chance against Miya Atsumu – how could he? He’s beautiful, unreal, irreverent. It would be so easy if Sakusa could hate him, but there was never even the slightest possibility that he would be anything but in love with him. 

“Jus’ kissin’, right?” Miya breathes, and Sakusa meets his eyes – lidded and dark, wanting, and Sakusa wants to say no, he wants everything, but if he gives Miya everything he has and then he walks away, Sakusa will be empty. 

He nods his head, and Miya recaptures his mouth. 

Sakusa doesn’t know how long they stay like that – the kisses change tempo frequently, sometimes urgent, heavy, decorated with gasps and soft moans, and other times they’re slow, exploratory, lazy, like they have all the time in the world to do nothing but this.

Every time Miya moves against him a certain way, Sakusa has to hold himself back from bucking his hips against him, from dragging Miya down and grinding him against his painfully hard cock. It hurts; it all hurts, so much so that it almost outweighs the pleasure, but Sakusa embraces the pain – everything good in his life has required some level of pain, and if this is all he gets from Miya, then he’ll take that, all hurt included. 

“I think I could kiss ya all night, Omi,” Miya says, and he sounds dreamy, not all there. 

Sakusa wants to say, “Kiss me all night, then,” but he’s already gone too far with this. He has to rip the bandaid off, at least for the night, at least until he’s decided he’s ready to hurt again. 

“We have practice in the morning, so we should probably go to sleep,” he settles on saying, even though every nerve in his body screams at him to shut up and kiss Miya until both of them are gasping for breath. “Did this help get rid of some of your tension?”

Miya looks startled, for a moment, then he lifts himself off of Sakusa and clears his throat. He won’t look at him. “Yeah. It did. Did it help ya too?”

“Sure,” Sakusa says, and he crawls out from under Miya’s shadow, putting up a wall between them once more. He doesn’t have to say anything else – Miya understands, and he clambers off the bed and walks to the door.

“Sleep well, Omi.” He gives him a smile, a genuine, Miya Atsumu one. “Sweet dreams.”

Sakusa swallows the lump in his throat and nods once more, not trusting himself to hold back the words he wants to say.

-x-

They lose to Argentina. It’s a disgusting game – filled with rallies that seem to go on forever, narrowly missed dives, serves that not even his wrists can handle receiving. Yaku goes down in their second match and Komori comes in for him, but by that time, they’ve already lost their tempo. They’re too far behind, and there’s no coming back. 

The matches that follow are a true testament of willpower, blood, sweat and tears, but in the end, they can’t catch up to Argentina or to Oikawa Tooru and Sakusa realizes that at twenty-four, he still has a long way to go. 

The first person he seeks out is Miya. He’s standing still, staring up at nothing, hands held over his head, breathing heavily. Sakusa goes to him automatically, a gravitational pull stronger than anything else. Neither of them speak, but when Miya collapses onto the floor and puts his hands over his face, Sakusa follows him down. They lie there in silence, together in their defeat, until their breaths even out and the failure sinks in.

“This fuckin’ sucks,” Miya breathes. “Fuck Oikawa Tooru.”

Sakusa snorts, because he’s light-headed and exhausted and it’s so much like Miya to blame an entire loss on one person. He’s been doing that since their training camp. For someone who works so naturally on a team, he sure knows how to single someone out.

“Next time,” Sakusa says, simply. “Next time, we’ll win.” 

“Yeah, we will, right?” Miya sighs. There are no tears. “We make a good team, Omi, don’tcha think? Just weren’t there yet.”

“Mmm,” Sakusa agrees. He can feel Miya’s heat next to him, and their arms touch. Just like the first time, they haven’t mentioned the kiss since it happened, and Miya acts no differently around him than usual. The flirting with Iwaizumi lessened in the days leading up to their first game, but Sakusa is sure that was just because Miya was focused. 

There’s a commotion from somewhere and Sakusa opens one eye to see Hinata perking up out of his temporary stupor to congratulate Oikawa. Next to him, Miya raises his head to glare. 

“Good game, Miya!” Oikawa cries, and Sakusa holds himself back from rolling his eyes. He doesn’t dislike Oikawa, because he actively is trying to snatch Iwaizumi away from Miya, and he appreciates that, but his personality is obnoxious. Actually, he’s just like Miya, which just makes Sakusa realize how far gone he must be to tolerate Miya. 

“Ah, thanks, Tooru,” Miya grumbles, pure sarcasm dripping off of his words. “Ya sure were showin’ off for us out there. I gotta say – smug ain’t a pretty look on you.”

Sakusa does roll his eyes now. “You’re one to talk,” he mutters.

Miya elbows him, and then continues to insult Oikawa. Sakusa thinks Oikawa may pounce on him like an angry leopard, so he quickly sits up and puts enough distance between himself and Miya that he doesn’t get caught in the crossfires. When Iwaizumi gets involved and berates Oikawa for bullying his athletes, Miya turns his charm up to one thousand, and implies that Oikawa pushed him and irritated his shoulder again.

“You’re a grown man acting like this,” Sakusa mutters from his new spot and shakes his head. Miya sticks his tongue out, then proceeds to ignore him. 

He tries not to listen to the rest of the conversation, preferring to grieve in peace and not have insult added to injury by having to suffer through watching Iwaizumi rub Miya’s shoulders, but he’s a glutton for punishment, and so his eyes stay locked in on it. 

He half hears Oikawa say something about inviting them all out for drinks and Sakusa thinks that yeah – he really needs a drink, or fifteen. He says as much, and the rest of the team seems to be in agreement, so Sakusa takes the opportunity to flee the gym with Suna and Komori, who thankfully are too miserable themselves to notice Sakusa falling apart.

-x-

Sakusa is in hell. It makes sense – he’s just lost in the Olympics, and instead of being able to drink his sorrows away like the rest of his teammates, he’s going to be forced to watch Miya throw himself at Iwaizumi wearing – whatever it is he’s wearing.

“What? Yer starin’. Too much?” Miya asks, turning around and examining himself in Sakusa’s mirror. “I think it’s perfect.”

Yeah, perfect is the word. Miya is dressed in a way that’s impossible to ignore – everything color-coordinated, form-fitting and stylish beyond what Miya should be capable of. Sakusa narrows his eyes at him. “Who helped you?”

“Nobody!” Miya gasps, scandalized. “Ya have no faith in me, Omi, I swear!”

Sakusa continues to stare – Miya’s jeans are designer, and there’s no way, in any universe, that he picked them out himself. “Did Suna take you shopping?”

Miya’s cheeks heat up. “Shut yer mouth, Omi. We can’t all be fashion queens.” 

Sakusa laughs, and he feels a little lighter. That’s always the case with Miya – Sakusa can be fuming with him, swear never to speak to him, look at him, even be in his presence ever again, but as soon as Miya makes him laugh, he’s back to square one. It’s a disease, but he appreciates it now, when everything feels tense enough to shatter him. 

“I could do a better job than him,” he notes, “But it’s better than anything you could come up with, so it’s good.”

“Yer the biggest jerk I’ve ever met,” Miya retorts, then he grumbles something unintelligible and rocks on his heels. “And yer slow. Let’s go already.” 

Sakusa sighs, stands up, and follows Miya out again. 

He wonders if he’s imagining it, when Miya continuously bumps against him while they walk. Neither of them did any drinking beforehand, so he shouldn’t be swaying, but every few steps, his hand will brush Sakusa’s, or his arms will rub against him, or he’ll turn his head to hear what Miya is saying and find their faces closer than they normally would be. 

It’s probably in his head.

The bar they find themselves at is different than their first night – but just as crowded. There’s a chaotic mixture of energy in the air – celebration and sorrow; athletes hyping themselves up or saving themselves from crying in their rooms all night. Sakusa spies Hinata first thing, doing just that – two shots in his hand as he hangs onto Kageyama’s middle, possibly crying. 

“Not gettin’ involved in that,” Miya says, and Sakusa agrees. Bokuto is bouncing around Ushijima and Aran, apparently trying to cheer them up, but Sakusa doesn’t have the capacity for that right now either, so he seeks out Suna, Yaku or Komori.

He finds them at the bar – with Iwaizumi.

Komori locks in on him and waves immediately, so it’s obviously too late to turn around, but Sakusa does consider it. He’s not in the best mental state to deal with Miya flirting with Iwaizumi, honestly, but maybe it won’t be so bad – like one of those ‘it can’t get worse’ type of situations.

“Shots for the losers,” Suna says dryly, handing Sakusa and Miya both glasses. “We’re drinking straight vodka, courtesy of the Russian.”

Yaku laughs. “The harder it burns, the more it dulls the pain.” 

Sakusa throws it back without flinching and Iwaizumi crinkles his nose, distrubed. “I don’t know how you do it. It tastes like battery acid.”

“What’re ya drinkin’, Iwa-chan?” Miya asks, and Sakusa prepares himself for the painful squeeze that will soon start with the flirting, but finds that it doesn’t come – his brain stops it, because Miya’s voice is just...casual. It’s not ten octaves higher, or syrupy thick. It’s so unusual, and so against what he’s come to expect that it throws him off. 

“Usually something fruity,” Iwaizumi laughs. “But I don’t think tonight calls for that – gin and tonic sounds good.”

“Got ya.” Miya nods, and turns to the bar. Out of the corner of his eye, Sakusa sees Suna and Komori watching him with matching expressions. They do that a lot – it’s unnerving. 

They all chat idly while Miya waits for Iwaizumi’s drink – it’s not as miserable as Sakusa expects. Sure, none of them expected to be knocked out in the first round of the Olympics, but what’s done is done, and they put up a good fight. It’s hard to stay down for too long when in the distance they can hear a combination of Bokuto and Hinata, now drunk enough to be cheerful again, shouting to anyone who will listen how they’re going to win gold in four years.

Sakusa is even laughing – really laughing, at something Suna is saying, when all attention turns to the door opening. 

Oikawa stares straight at them, zeroes in right on Iwaizumi, and Sakusa knows what little bit of fun they may have managed is over. 

“Oh, hell no,” Yaku murmurs. “I’m out.”

“Yeah, I’m nauseous enough,” Suna agrees. “I’m going to see if I can get Aran drunk. That’ll make me feel better.”

“Wait for me,” Komori calls, and then he gives Sakusa a sympathetic smile. “Sorry, Kiyoomi – I think you’re needed here.”

“Traitor,” he grumbles back. Suna smirks, and then flashes a peace sign before dragging Komori away with him. Sakusa sighs and leans back against the counter, wondering if taking three consecutive shots in five minutes is too much. 

Oikawa approaches just as Miya comes back juggling three drinks in his hand – one for Iwaizumi, himself, and for Sakusa, even though he hadn’t asked. He takes a sip, and it’s a vodka cranberry; his favorite.

For the millionth time in his life, Miya inspires a warmth inside of Sakusa and he feels weak and fuzzy. 

“Hi, Iwa-chan!” Oikawa stops in front of them. “Hi, Omi! You do like Omi, right?”

All warm and fuzziness is forgotten – he throws a murderous glare at Miya. The asshole has Olympians on other teams calling him by that stupid nickname. Oikawa smiles sheepishly and holds his hands up in the air.

“Sakusa, then.” 

Well, Oikawa isn’t so bad, even if he did beat them. 

“What’re ya drinkin’, Tooru?” Miya interrupts, and it’s back – that sugary sweet voice, the batted eyelashes. He’s powered on his charm. Sakusa takes a heavy gulp of his drink, watching with what he hopes is disinterest in his eyes as Oikawa and Miya banter back and forth, trying to one up each other in a much different way than they tried on the court. Passive aggressive doesn’t work for either of them – they’d be better off spiking volleyballs at each other, but they still try. It’s so obvious to Sakusa what’s going on here – both trying to stake their claim, and poor Iwaizumi is none the wiser. 

Sakusa is only a man. He can only take so much before he snaps.

And he _does_ snap. “Give it a rest, Miya. You two are just like each other. He’s more like you than your own twin.”

Sakusa can say that with confidence. Miya Osamu is perfectly pleasant – he spends plenty of time in their apartment, and Sakusa wonders why he had to get stuck with the worse Miya. 

He knows in his heart that even if Miya Osamu was the first Miya he encountered, Sakusa would still fall head over heels for Miya Atsumu. He can’t even try to deny that. 

The Miya he is cursed with gapes at him now. He’s three levels too drunk, but coherent enough to be offended. “That ain’t true at all.” 

“Gross,” Oikawa grumbles, and Sakusa would laugh if he weren’t coiled so tight. He’s been on edge all week – nervous for their game, frustrated over Miya, constantly on the verge of boiling over, and now that he’s here, and they’ve lost, and Miya is _continuing_ to blatantly chat up Iwaizumi, so he decides he’s done.

“Okay, that’s enough.” Sakusa puts his hand on Miya, empowered by drunkenness and a flash of adrenaline. “We’re going to find Ushijima.”

Miya is horrified. “Omi-kun! It’s like talkin’ to a tree trunk!”

Sakusa notes that he isn’t complaining about leaving – he’s complaining about Ushijima, which is fair. 

“Stop bitching. We’re leaving them alone.”

Oikawa looks like he may kiss Sakusa right then and there. Miya huffs, but he obeys Sakusa without much argument.

“Okay, okay,” he sighs. “It was nice talkin’ to ya, Tooru,” he says, entirely sarcastically. Then, genuinely, he cries, “See ya tomorrow, Iwa-chan!”

Sakusa steers him away, because God, he’s never seen two people more blatantly in love than Iwaizumi and Oikawa, and they need to be given peace so they can figure that out. He envies them – it must be nice to have your feelings returned. Sakusa will have to get the feeling from living vicariously through others, or reading bad romance novels.

“Can we at least make out tonight, since I’m bein’ good?” 

Sakusa almost freezes, but knows he needs to keep his cool. Miya is just drunk – drunk and disappointed. 

“Maybe if I get drunk enough,” he says.

Miya scrunches his eyebrows together, and then pushes Sakusa away from him, sending him right into a petite woman. He apologizes profusely, and then turns to glare at Miya.

“What the hell is your problem?”

“For Christ’s _sake,_ Omi!” He throws his hands up, red-faced. “If ya don’t want me then why won’t ya let me flirt with anyone else?!”

“What?” Sakusa chokes. “What are you talking about?”

Miya has broken some kind of seal, and he pokes Sakusa in the chest now, anger and irritation radiating off of him in waves.

“Ya’ve done nothin’ but reject me for our whole fuckin’ lives, and then we get here, and suddenly ya wanna make out, but ya keep changin’ yer mind – yer hot and cold and I can’t figure out what ya want! I thought maybe I was just readin’ ya wrong, maybe imaginin’ shit, but no – ya hate when I flirt with Iwa-chan! Why?”

“I – I don’t – it’s because – ”

“I’m only flirtin’ with him to make ya jealous!” Miya fumes. His accent is thick with fury, and his eyes are burning. “I’ve had a crush on ya since I saw ya at training camp, but ya never seemed interested, so I made my peace, but as soon as I start flirtin’ with Iwa-chan, ya wanna kiss me? It didn’t seem like a coincidence.” 

“You were trying to _make me jealous_? I thought you were trying to sleep with him!” Sakusa can’t be sure this is real. He may be back in his room, in a stupor, induced by their loss, and his subconscious is trying to save him with his deepest desires, but if this was a dream, he wouldn’t be in a loud, overly-crowded bar. 

“Of course I was tryin’ to make ya jealous!” Miya cries, exasperated, like it’s obvious. “And piss off Tooru, but that came later, and he deserves it…” He trails off, shaking his head. “The only person I’m interested in sleepin’ with is teasing me then pushin’ me away! Fuck, I’m losing my damn mind.”

Sakusa is short-circuiting. He always has a snappy retort to Miya. It’s in the fine print of their dynamic – he is _the_ one to knock him down a peg. It’s why they work so well together – Miya says something dumb, and Sakusa tells him why he’s an idiot. He’s _never_ been rendered speechless. 

“Are ya gonna say somethin’? I’m barin’ my damn heart here – I know ya don’t feel the same way, but at least acknowledge the confess – ”

Sakusa’s body moves without explicit permission from his brain. He grabs Miya by the shirt and crashes their lips together, taking the reins for the first time. Miya makes a surprised noise against his mouth, but then it turns into a groan and he deepens the kiss, prompting Sakusa to open his mouth wider so he can press his tongue in. 

They make out, in the middle of the bar, breathless and sweaty and drunk, and it’s disgusting but Sakusa doesn’t care – he doesn’t give a single shit. He’s weightless – floating, giddy. Sakusa has never in his life been _giddy,_ but now he feels like he could do a full dance routine, could skip out of the bar holding Miya’s hand.

Miya _confessed_ to him. The whole thing with Iwaizumi was for _him._

What the fuck – Miya is such an idiot.

 _Sakusa_ is such an idiot. 

Sakusa yanks his face away from him, ignoring the yelp of loss that Miya lets out. “Don’t try to make me jealous again. I never would’ve picked up on it.”

“I thought ya were _smart,_ Omi,” Miya whines. “Wait – wait, are ya sayin’ ya feel the same way?”

“Obviously, Miya. For reasons unknown to me, I’m in love with you, and you’ve been torturing me since we got recruited for the National Team. Asshole.” 

Miya’s face breaks into a radiant smile. “Yer in love with me.”

“Please don’t make me repeat it.” 

“I’m gonna make ya repeat it every day for the rest of our lives,” he promises, gleeful, then he takes Sakusa’s hand. “But first – I wanna kiss ya silly. C’mere.”

They dive into the crowd and come out on the other side of the bar, a corner dotted with booths and tables. They find an empty booth and Miya pushes him into it, caging him in against the cheap wood, and then he kisses him. 

Sakusa loses all sense of rationality when Miya is involved – they’re in a _packed_ bar, two members of the Japan National Team, making out like touch-starved teenagers in a dingy booth and he just...doesn’t care. Miya peppers his cheek with soft kisses first, then cranes his neck to kiss the two moles above his eyebrow, then his nose, before finally settling on his lips, and Sakusa, impatient, yanks him closer and opens the kiss so that they’re a sloppy, panting mess, breathing in tandem while their tongues tangle together. 

Sakusa loses all sense of time, and probably would’ve made out with Miya all night, just like this, if it had not been for a very pointed, very distinct, very _close_ sound of someone clearing their throat. Sakusa pulls away like he’s been burned and comes eye-to-eye with Suna, who’s watching them with a bored expression.

“Hey,” he says. “I’m glad this finally happened, but could you have some respect? We just lost the Olympics.”

“Yeah, what the fuck?” Yaku pops up over Miya’s shoulder, causing him to jump. “I could see you guys figuring this thing out after we won – like an adrenaline thing, kissing at the celebration, but we _lost.”_

“Pretty sure Hinata is attempting to drown himself in whisky, and you’re over here making out,” Komori sighs, appearing out of nowhere next to Sakusa, who finally gets his bearings.

“That’s sad for him,” he says. “Can you all go away now?”

“No,” Suna answers. “Listen, I’m probably going to find someone to have sad, loser sex with later too. Maybe it’ll be one of our teammates.” His eyes flicker to Komori and back. “But I will do it behind closed doors and not in front of the whole world, you animals.”

“Ah, we’re just kissin’, Sunarin,” Miya grumbles, finally appearing to come back to life. 

“You know there’s press here,” Yaku scolds. “What would Aran say if he caught you two?”

“He’d tell Kita,” threatens Suna. “Maybe _I’ll_ tell Kita – I already sent the video to Samu. Fuck, what if he beats me to it?” 

“Video?!” Squeaks Miya, and oh God, Sakusa is getting a headache.

“Suna, delete the video or I’ll get Komori to tell me every piece of dirt he has on you from EJP – I’ve already heard some of it that I’m sure Miya would be interested in hearing,” Sakusa says, now levelling Suna with his own cool stare.

“Don’t tell that monster anything! He gossips worse than a tabloid.”

Miya smiles. “Get outta here, then.”

“ _Y_ _ou_ two get out of here,” Yaku admonishes them. “Seriously – but do you need anything? Like a condom? Lube?” 

“We’re leaving,” Sakusa decides, and he grabs Miya’s hand and pulls him up. 

“Have fun, kids!” Komori cries, the menace. 

“Can I start the hashtag now?” Suna asks. “I wanna be ahead of the game when you two start trending. Do you like ‘sakuatsu’? I think it’s cute.”

“Don’t you dare,” Miya groans. “Samu will never let me hear the end of it if it starts trendin’ online before I even call him.”

“I’ll give you twenty-four hours.”

“That’s too much,” Yaku insists. “Three hours – that should give them enough time to finish their activities.”

“Damn, I think you’re giving Tsumu too much credit,” Suna says, doubtfully.

“Goodbye!” Miya shouts, and now he’s the one pushing for Sakusa to go, and then they’re barrelling through the crowd and out the door into the warm, summer night air. Miya keeps their hands intertwined, and he sways into Sakusa again, just like on the walk over, although this time is purposeful. He smiles while he does it. 

“Yer not gonna change yer mind, are ya?” Miya whispers, as their villa comes into view. The question is so small, so hesitant, so unlike Miya, that Sakusa immediately sneers. He doesn’t ever want to make Miya question him ever again.

“You can kiss me all night, this time, Miya. You can have all of me.”

“Call me Atsumu,” Miya requests. “I’ve been askin’ ya to for years, but now – now ya gotta.”

Sakusa smiles and squeezes Miya’s hand, still not convinced this is real at all, but then Miya returns the pressure, and he’s sure he’s awake. 

“Atsumu,” he tries, and it tastes sweet on his tongue. Atsumu pushes them through the door, barely giving Sakusa the chance to get his keycard out. They tumble in, and Atsumu is on him like he needs him to breathe. He shoves him into the wall and kicks the door shut before descending upon him, lips hungry and desperate and they say all the things that neither of them have been able to say for years.

 _I’ve wanted you._ Atsumu bites his lip and runs his hands under his shirt. Sakusa is hot, so hot.

 _I’ve loved you._ Sakusa threads his fingers through Atsumu’s hair, kisses the freckles on his nose, the skin on his neck. Atsumu squirms, letting his body collapse against Sakusa’s.

 _You’re mine._ They press impossibly closer, and their kisses grow heavier, sloppier, making up for all the lost time and opportunity. Sakusa spreads Atsumu’s legs with his knee, pushing it up so Atsumu can grind against it, and his eyes glaze over, glassy and wide. 

“Lemme get ya in bed, Omi. God knows I’ve wanted to for my whole life.” 

Sakusa follows him to his room, and allows Atsumu to throw him back on the bed. Sakusa likes being on the bottom – likes Atsumu climbing over him. He’s beautiful, always, but there’s a special kind of ethereal about Atsumu in this moment – his eyes are lidded and his pupils are blown wide as he takes in Sakusa, from his toes to his face, drinking in every detail of his clothed body. His hair fans him like a golden halo, and his skin glows in the soft light of the room. 

“Stop staring. Kiss me,” Sakusa demands, and Atsumu smiles. 

“Of course, Omi – whatever ya want, it’s yers.”

Sakusa wants everything – he wants to tear Atsumu out of his shirt, so he curls his fingers around the bottom of the fabric and Atsumu obliges, lifting his arms over his head and tossing the shirt to the floor. 

“Ya know,” Atsumu says casually, watching Sakusa watch him, “I sometimes thought ya were lookin’ at me in the locker rooms, but I told myself that I was just projectin’. Guess I wasn’t.”

“You always walked around with only a towel on, like you wanted everyone to look at you. It was torture,” Sakusa grumbles, but as he says it, he trails his fingers across Atsumu’s abs, giving only feather-light touches. 

Atsumu whines. “Not everyone – only you, Omi. You were the only one I wanted to look. I wanted ya to look and _touch._ ”

Sakusa will give into anything Atsumu requests of him. He presses a palm to his belly button, then slowly rubs up the expanse of his stomach, to his chest, and Atsumu wriggles. He traces every expanse of Atsumu’s skin, rolls his fingers over his neck, his shoulders, cups his face in his hands. 

“Ya drive me crazy,” Atsumu pants. “Yer always so _slow._ ”

“I want to savor it,” Sakusa says. He’s taking mental pictures of Atsumu and locking them away in his mind forever, just in case none of it is real, just in case it’s a trick of the light, but Atsumu rubs his cheek against Sakusa’s hand and gives him a sweet, genuine smile.

“Don’t need to, Omi – ‘cause we’re gonna do this so many more times.” 

Sakusa kisses him then, a little more urgent, and Atsumu sighs into it. He advances, just enough that Sakusa is falling back onto the pillows, and hovers over him on all fours. 

“We’ve got a power imbalance goin’ on,” he comments, nodding towards Sakusa’s shirt, and he quickly discards it. Atsumu hums appreciatively and drops himself down, his weight like a warm blanket draped over Sakusa. Atsumu’s lips find the crook of Sakusa’s neck, and he kisses lightly, then sucks, hard and unforgiving, and he’s going to leave a mark, Sakusa knows, but really, is there a point in telling him to stop? Suna’s almost definitely told everyone he could find in the bar, so Sakusa lets him. He throws his head back, giving Atsumu more space to work with, and Atsumu takes it all, licking a stripe from his neck to his ear, nipping and kissing and breathing into Sakusa’s ear.

It’s obscene, all of it – Atsumu knows exactly how to disarm him, and Sakusa is falling apart quicker than he’d like to admit. When Atsumu gets bored of assaulting his neck, he moves down to his chest. He lets his hands rest on Sakusa’s hips and then he leaves a searing kiss on Sakusa’s left nipple. 

“Fuck,” he gasps, without meaning to, and Atsumu lifts his head to grin. 

“I knew ya were sensitive, but there are so many places I haven’t gotten to explore yet,” he breathes. “I wonder what kinda noises ya’ll make if I go lower.”

“Atsumu,” Sakusa says, and he means it as a warning but it comes out like a plea. Atsumu hums and moves to Sakusa’s other nipple, kissing and sucking until it’s hard and reddened and Sakusa is desperate enough to start kicking, as if trying to force his dark jeans off of him. 

“Can’t believe we haven’t been doin’ this for longer,” Atsumu grumbles. “Yer the prettiest thing I’ve ever seen, Omi. I want ya so bad.”

“Talk less then,” Sakusa demands. “Take my pants off.”

“Bossy, bossy,” Atsumu teases, but then his hands leave Sakusa’s hips and move towards the zipper on his pants, dragging it down before popping the button and pulling them down all the way to his ankles and off. 

They join their shirts on the floor, and Atsumu doesn’t wait for Sakusa to ask, doesn’t need to, because they know each other too well at this point – they don’t even need to speak. Atsumu abandons his own pants and both of them take another moment to drink the other in. 

Then something in Atsumu must snap, because he jumps on Sakusa and smashes their lips together. 

Sakusa barely has time to get his bearings, and he lets instinct take over as he wraps his arms around Atsumu and digs his nails into his back, pulling him closer, closer, closer until they’re flush against each other, and Sakusa can feel Atsumu’s hardness pressing against his own. He rocks his hips upward, chasing the electric shock that shoots through him every time Atsumu moves.

“Omi,” Atsumu gasps in between kisses. “Do ya wanna – ” his sentence is cut off, interrupted by a broken moan that Sakusa has caused by rutting heavily up against him. “Fuck, Omi, I gotta fuck ya – I gotta.” 

“Yes,” Sakusa agrees, and it’s more of a gasp then a word. Atsumu kisses him again, hard and unforgiving, clacking their teeth together, and Sakusa continues rocking their hips together, half out of his mind. 

“Lemme take these off.” Atsumu’s voice is hoarse. “Then ya – ya’ll let me?”

“You can do whatever you want to me, Atsumu. I’m all yours.”

“Oh, Jesus, fuck, okay – okay. Come here.” 

Atsumu, put simply, is wrecked, but Sakusa can say absolutely nothing about that fact, because he’s sure he, himself is about to die. Atsumu peels his boxers off of him with trembling hands, and then Sakusa is on display, every inch of him for Miya Atsumu to see, to touch, to claim. 

And Atsumu – beautiful, incredible Atsumu, who Sakusa admired from day one, despite his shitty attitude and arrogance, who Sakusa has chased his whole life, just like volleyball, who Sakusa has loved for as long as he’s known him, bares himself to Sakusa now. 

“I love you,” Sakusa says, and it’s true that Atsumu is like a drug to him, always getting him to feel things he doesn’t want to feel and say things he can’t hold back. He’s delirious, crazed, because of this man above him, and he can’t find it in him to care.

“I love ya so much, fuck, Omi,” Atsumu says, breaths coming out ragged. “I keep thinking yer gonna change yer mind, so I gotta ask – yer sure?”

“I’m sure,” Sakusa promises.

“Okay.” Atsumu swallows, and then he guides Sakusa back so that he’s against the headboard, and spreads his legs. He leans off the bed for a moment, rummaging through something on the floor, and comes back with a small bottle. “We can use a condom too, if ya want – I’m clean, but the Olympics really supports safe sex, because I have, like, twenty of ‘em, and – ”

“Atsumu,” Sakusa interrupts. “I haven’t and won’t be sleeping with anybody else, and I want to feel you.”

“Oh God, how does this stuff come out of yer mouth? Even in my fantasies – ah, fuck.” Atsumu is beside himself, but he nods. “Okay, yeah.” He uncaps the bottle of lube and drizzles it onto his fingers. He asks Sakusa a question with his eyes, and Sakusa inclines his head. Atsumu inserts one finger and Sakusa burns, but he welcomes the pain – wants more of it. 

“I’m not as fragile as you think I am,” he tells Atsumu, who frowns. “I thought you didn’t want to savor it.”

“Changed my mind,” Atsumu murmurs, and he’s watching Sakusa with a reverent kind of wonder in his eyes as he spreads him open, slowly, torturously. 

“ _Atsumu._ ”

Atsumu groans, and then he inserts another finger, increasing the stretch and Sakusa burns hotter. He used to dream about this, but his dreams could never do Atsumu justice – no matter how hard his imagination worked, it couldn’t conjure this up. Atsumu, touching Sakusa like he’s something precious, tantalizingly languid in his movements. When he puts a third finger in and begins to finally pick up the pace, scissoring him in earnest, Sakusa lets his mouth hang open and closes his eyes. It’s too much; it’s not enough; it’s everything he’s ever wanted. 

“I’m ready,” Sakusa insists. 

“Are ya – ”

“Fuck me, Atsumu, come on.”

Atsumu chokes on the words he was about to say, and stops hesitating. He pulls his fingers out and Sakusa whines at the sudden loss. He’s never felt so needy, so desperate, so unbearably wrecked by another human being, but he should’ve known – this is the Miya Atsumu effect. He’s been ruining him long before now.

Sakusa will let himself be ruined, if it’s by Atsumu. 

Atsumu puts one hand on each of Sakusa’s thighs, and then he lines himself up, and pushes in. 

Sakusa thinks he may suffocate, or faint – he’s being stretched beyond his limits, but in his incoherence, all he manages to do is beg for more. He chants Atsumu’s name, a prayer, a plea, something, and Atsumu goes, inch-by-inch, until he bottoms out, dropping his head once again to the crook of Sakusa’s neck.

“Yer gonna kill me, Omi. I can’t handle ya.”

“You’re one to talk,” Sakusa growls. “Move, Atsumu, please.”

“Are ya _beggin’_ me? Fuck, that’s the hottest thing I’ve ever heard from ya. Of course, baby, I’ll fuck ya real good.”

When Sakusa thinks about the implications of Atsumu calling him ‘baby’ later on, he’ll probably combust, but for now, he has a one track mind. He can focus only on sensation, can respond only with animal instinct as he drags his nails down Atsumu’s back and wraps his legs around his waist, prompting him to push deeper inside of him.

Atsumu pulls almost all the way out before slamming back in, and he sets a brutal pace. Sakusa can’t control the sounds that are dragged out of him – pathetic whimpers, shameless moans. He closes his eyes again, but then Atsumu’s hand is on his face.

“Look at me, Omi,” he begs. “I wanna see yer face. I bet it’s pretty when ya come.”

“You’ll have to see,” Sakusa says, then gasps when Atsumu hits just the right spot, and Sakusa is seeing stars. He’s short of breath, and his brain powers down. Everything burns, and pressure coils down deep in his stomach. Atsumu fucks him hard, and they’re sweating, gasping for breath, trembling and crying out each other’s names. Sakusa’s hand finds his cock and he strokes it as best he can, with sloppy, panicked flicks of his wrist. Atsumu hips begin to stutter and he meets Sakusa’s eyes, an urgent question waiting for him.

Sakusa nods and then he thinks he blacks out – his vision blurs, and he comes over his hand and splatters his chest, just as Atsumu gives one last desperate thrust and collapses. 

It takes awhile for them to come down. Sakusa can only think of one word – blissed. He’s been fucked into a cocoon of calm, and it isn’t until Atsumu shifts slightly and spreads stickiness over Sakusa’s chest that he wakes up to reality.

“This is disgusting.”

“Ah, such a romantic,” Atsumu mutters into Sakusa’s shoulder. “Don’t make me get up. I don’t want it to be over.”

“Weren’t you the one who said we were going to do this so many more times?” Sakusa asks, wiggling his arm free of Atsumu’s body and poking his forehead. Atsumu mumbles something incoherent, and Sakusa pushes the hair out of his face. “You put me through so much, idiot.” 

“Ah, don’t blame me for it all,” Atsumu grumbles. “Yer the hardest person in the world to read. It would’ve been easier to have a crush on Ushijima.” 

“Ushijima wouldn’t put up with you.”

Atsumu bites his shoulder in response, and Sakusa finds himself smiling. Of all the people in the world, he had to develop a fascination with Miya Atsumu – a fascination that turned to friendship, that turned to love. 

Sakusa is truly a masochist, but he thinks there are worse things in the world that he could be. 

**Author's Note:**

> Leave me a comment if you liked it, I live for them <3 
> 
> I scream on twitter a ton: [ here ](https://twitter.com/sweetestnerd_)  
> 


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